Spike Lives: A Cautionary Tale
by Kiru Banzai
Summary: Be careful what you wish for.


Author's note: I love Spike as much as you do. Probably more. But that doesn't mean I have to love fanfiction writers. Enjoy.  
  
* * *  
  
First, there was nothing. Then a feeling, like swimming through dark water. Then sound. People talking far off. Someone's labored breathing, close up. Light. Lights. He was staring at the ceiling.   
  
Then pain, sudden and crippling. Broken bones, gashes, bullet holes screamed down his nerve cells. Sweat beaded on his forehead. But he had felt these things before. And it was never a matter of how he felt, but of what he had to do.   
  
Spike carefully sat up. His wounds protested, particularly the one in his stomach, which responded with a wave of blood down his already bloody shirt. He examined himself. He had been shot a number of times, and he was badly cut up. There was a dark, spreading stain all around him, and at the sight he clutched his stomach. _Stay in there._  
  
He was sitting on the stairs of the syndicate building, alone. Somewhere above him, he could hear voices, probably discussing the carnage he had caused. Spike could see the door to the building, open, unguarded. This was his chance to escape. He wondered if he could walk.  
  
He wondered why he was still alive.   
  
A half-buried memory surfaced, green and liquid. A cold operating table. His missing eye. _The doctors. They did something to me._  
  
_They took something from me._  
  
Ever-so-carefully, Spike leveraged himself up on what he considered his good arm: the one with one bullet in it instead of two. He pushed himself into a crouch, sending spasms of pain down his arm and both legs. Now, it was simply a matter of stretching his long legs, and he would be standing up. He pushed with all his effort and stood, congratulating himself. He put one foot out in front to steady himself, missed the stair, and pitched downward, rolling down the long staircase. He heard rather than felt something snap inside him.   
  
At the bottom of the stairs, Spike found that his "good" arm was now broken in two places, along with several ribs and his collarbone. Well, okay. A momentary setback. With the force of will more than anything, he made it out the door and into the street. Crawling through the horrified pedestrians to the curb, he extended as much of his arm as he still had control over, and rasped, "Taxi!"  
  
A checkered cab stopped beside him. The driver looked out at his potential fare, blanched, and stepped on the accelerator. Spike, already grasping the door handle, refused to let go and was dragged out into the street. The driver swerved to shake him loose, but only succeeded in smashing Spike against the grille of an oncoming car. Desperate now, he drove up onto the sidewalk and scraped him along the brick walls of the buildings. Spike hung on and tried not to think about the skin and flesh he was losing. Finally, the driver gave up and steered back onto the street, stopping next to the curb. Spike opened the door and lurched in, spilling blood and other fluids all over the cab's leather upholstery. "Marina, please."  
  
"You can pay?"  
  
Spike looked at him. Blood was pouring out of a cut along his hairline and pooling around his eyes and broken nose. There wasn't much left of his suit now, not to mention his skin. White bone was visible at his elbows and kneecaps. The cab driver got the idea and headed towards the ocean.  
  
* * *  
  
"I miss him, that's all."  
  
"You've got to realize he's not coming back."  
  
The remainder of the Bebop crew sat in the ship's main room. Jet spoke again. "I suppose I always knew that this was what he wanted. To go out in a blaze of glory. Not to live some washed-out half life."  
  
Faye narrowed her eyes. "Anyone, no matter what their circumstances, would choose life over death. He was a fool."  
  
"How can you say that? I thought you were supposed to care about him."  
  
"How could I ever care about someone who would kill himself over another woman?" She crossed her arms and looked away.   
  
Jet sighed. "I miss him."  
  
"So do I."  
  
Their reminiscence was halted by the sound of someone banging at the airlock.   
  
The two bounty hunters looked at each other, their eyes widening in shock.   
  
"Do you think it could--" Faye was already off and running.   
  
* * *  
  
The driver had let Spike off in front of the Bebop's dock and sped away, muttering something about demons. Now Spike was standing (well, leaning, anyway) at the Bebop's door, cursing. He had lost his keys with his pockets. Still, no matter. He remembered the door code, and was in the process of entering it with one of his remaining fingers when the door opened on its own, and he caught sight of her.   
  
"Faye!" he gurgled.   
  
She screamed and hit the Close Airlock button before turning on her heel and running. Spike lurched quickly into the ship, but not quickly enough. The heavy door slammed closed, cutting Spike's feet off at the ankles. The pain was excruciating. He wondered how long a normal person could live losing this much blood. He told himself to stop thinking of things like that, and concentrated on trying to pass out.  
  
* * *  
  
"There's something out there!"  
  
Jet turned and regarded her with incredulity. "What?"  
  
"Just take off!"  
  
He gave her a wary look. "But we haven't discussed what you're planning--"  
  
She ran to the controls. "I'll do it myself!" He stopped her, one hand on her shoulder, and moved to trigger the launch sequence.  
  
"Okay, okay. Start over. What was this thing?"  
  
"It's a monster! It was so horrible, it looked...I can't describe it. Jet, it was trying to get in here!" She broke down. "I--I thought it would be him. And then..." She took a long, shuddering breath. "I just couldn't deal with it."  
  
He turned to her, then. "I've got bad news for you. We're overweight."   
  
She looked at him in horror. "What does that mean?"  
  
"It means, whatever that thing was, it's on the ship."  
  
* * *  
  
Spike, still lying by the airlock, felt the ship move. His efforts to lose consciousness had been in vain, even when he had bashed his head against the floor and felt something crack. He put his hand to his forehead now, and it came away covered in clumps of flesh and hair. This expedition was not really going according to plan. He would have liked to be dead by now, or at least shot full of morphine.   
  
He tried to roll over, with limited success. There was a sound at the window, and he turned his ravaged face to see Faye, her gun in hand.   
  
* * *  
  
The creature was still crouched in the airlock when she got there, looking more horrible than ever. A dark fluid pooled around it, throwing its glistening pink flesh into sharp relief. She must have made some sound, because now it was looking at her, its eyes terrible and full of malice. So she hit it with the flamethrower. It shrieked and flailed its limbs. A smell like cooking meat filled the room. While it was thus incapacitated, Faye hit the release and hung on. The vacuum outside sucked the creature out into space. Faye closed the airlock and breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
* * *  
  
It was dark. And cold. Spike could feel what was left of his blood freeze a carapace around him within the first thirty seconds. The air left his lungs with impossible force, caving in his ribcage. His eyeballs froze and shattered in their sockets.   
  
He was alive.   
  
Lost in the infinite universe, Spike drifted.   
  
  
SEE YOU SPACE COWBOY... 


End file.
